Back in my teenage years, I was quiet as hell.

Didn?t say much.

Didn?t bother anyone.

Sat in the back of the class, drawing pictures while the popular guys rotated girlfriends like tires on a stock car.

Funny thing though, those same fellas would suddenly remember my name the night before a big date when they had a project due.

Twenty bucks and I?d draw them a poster.

They?d get their A.

I?d get beer money.

Everybody wins.

The educational system is functioning perfectly.

Prom rolls around, and I?m not sitting home another year.

Not this time.

I had my own car.

My own suit.

Didn?t owe anyone a damn thing.

Projects done.

Confidence loaded.

Hair questionable, but confidence loaded.

There was this cute little blonde I?d been talking to during free periods.

No boyfriend.

Nice smile.

Didn?t make me feel like a complete idiot when I talked, which was new for me.

Heart pounding faster than a jackrabbit?s pecker, I walked up and asked her to prom.

She said yes.

YES.

I was so pumped, I forgot to ask where she lived and had to hunt her down later like a lost dog just to get the address.

I polished the car.

Cleaned the garbage out.

Finished a couple more last-minute projects for the boys.

Put on my suit.

???She lived clear on the other side of the fuckin county.

Didn?t care.

Had a date.

Had wheels.

Had pride.

I pull into her driveway and see her old man messing around in a shed.

Keeps peeking out the window at me like I?m a raccoon sniffing around the trash.

Says absolutely nothing.

Just stares.

Her mother, though, is jumping up and down at the window, smiling, clapping her hands like she just won bingo.

I?m feeling like Prince Charming.

Horse replaced with horsepower.

She opens the door.

And holy shit, she looked amazing.

I had a grin from ear to ear.

She didn?t.

She looks past me and goes, ?What?s that??

I whip around, thinking the boys tied something stupid to the back of the car.

She points and says, ?That car. Is that what we?re going in??

Now I?m standing there, confused as hell.

That?s not just a car.

That?s my 1967 Chevelle.

Rebuilt it myself.

Shines like sin.

Sounds like thunder.

That car had more soul than half the people in the school.

She tells me there?s still time for me to go home and get my dad?s car.

My dad drives a faded brown Tempo that looks like it escaped the junkyard out of shame and is actively trying to die.

So like a dumb young idiot who didn?t date much and thought compromise was part of romance, I got in my Chevelle and headed home.

But as I got closer to the school, it hit me.

Fuck that.

I wasn?t goin' to prom in a Tempo.

I wasn?t showing up apologizing for who I was, what I built, or what I loved.

So I turned around, rolled into prom alone, windows down, Chevelle rumbling like it had something to say.

And let me tell ya, I had a blast.

Danced.

Laughed.

Didn?t owe anyone shit.

And I learned something real important that night.

If someone won?t ride with you when you?re driving your best self, they sure as hell don?t deserve the passenger seat.

??????????????...and that's callin' it like it is!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Canadian artist & digital troublemaker Colin John Cook shares his louder-than-life, awkward, and honest-as-hell stories. Packed with humour, real talk & creative insights in a no filter, digital comedy space that laughs at life & calls it like it is. He is also the Founder and President of

The Hidden Gallery - Art Studio & Micro Theatre

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